Part 2 of "In The Woods When First We Met"

207. Descent

In the morning it didn't seem to matter what she could or could not do.

All seemed brighter because Mr. Blythe was feeling a bit better, and the prospect of marriage and a baby faded into the realms of 'someday'. She shrugged it off- they'd work it all out eventually; there was no need to fuss over it now. She'd had a good night's sleep, and everything seemed simpler in the morning.

Anne had a burst of productive energy and decided to work on her needlepoint.

"I thought you'd finished that," Marilla said, coming down the stairs, surprised to see Anne up early and sitting by the window in the kitchen, busily working.

Anne had been singing to herself as she worked; now she smiled as she held up her creation for Marilla to see. "I've started a new one. Isn't the most lovely quotation? It's from Jane Eyre."

"It says: I ha" Marilla read, with an amused smile.

"Oh," Anne said, putting it down. "Well, yes- but soon it will say: I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

"All that?" Marilla asked. "Anne, goodness, couldn't you find something shorter? Perhaps the Constitution? Or the Bill of Rights, maybe?"

"I like it," Anne said, her enthusiasm not dampened in the slightest. "I think it'll come out just fine."

"Oh, I'm certain it will- next year, when you finish it," Marilla replied, shaking her head and going to the stove to begin breakfast.

Sunday morning, Anne felt optimistic about church. Gilbert might be there, if his father was still feeling better. Probably not, since he might not want to leave him regardless. But there was a chance- and even a chance made it worth it to go.

Seeing Anne getting ready for church with no push necessary, Marilla did not mention Anne's statement of last week that she did not want to go back to church. She was pleased to see Anne willing to make a stab at being part of the world.

Anne brought her needlepoint with her, in case she got to see Gilbert or any of her friends. She had only finished three letters, and none of the design, but she still wanted to show it to them.

Marilla debated saying anything to Anne on the way to church, about not being nervous, or about how to handle her feelings when she saw the Andrews. But whatever she might try to advise Anne, she didn't get much of a chance, since Anne chattered on and on all the way there.

Once there, Marilla told her, "You did well last week. Perhaps this week you might try joining in on the singing. Do you think? It might lift your spirits."

Anne bounced out of the buggy and took a deep, exhilarating breath of the air that was not quite springy, but no longer wintry, either. "I fully intend to sing today, but I don't need singing to lift my spirits, Marilla. I'm happy as a clam! I'm not sure how a person can tell if a clam is happy or not- they aren't like dogs, you know, where they have waggy tails, but that's how the expression goes, funny as it is. I wonder how expressions begin. Have you ever wondered that? Someone must say them first, and others follow. I wonder if anything I say could ever become an expression that's often heard? I think I'd like that, if it did. It makes one feel as though a little part of them is going on forever!"

"What's going on forever is your train of thought," Marilla said with a sigh. "Though I'm used to it by now. Let's go in. We'll sit in our regular pew, today."

Anne could feel a few pairs of eyes on her today, but she felt happy enough that any discomfort simply rolled off her as she sang along with the choir.

Marilla and Matthew looked at each other over Anne's head, sharing a smile that things seemed to be improving so quickly.

Though things seemed better and Anne was showing newfound confidence, Marilla thought it best to leave quickly after church, as they had last week. With Anne so happy and carefree, she hated to think any after-church gossip might reach her ears.

But as she and Matthew ushered Anne back to the buggy, Anne spotted Gilbert.

"Gilbert!" she yelled happily, running over to him.

His face looked just like a sunrise to her, as their eyes met. He could see she was happy today, and that lifted him right up to the clouds.

"Your father's still doing better?" Anne asked in a rush. "I thought he must be, or you wouldn't have come to church."

"He is. Not- not well," Gilbert admitted. "But he's feeling just like he was on Friday. That's almost three days, Anne! Three days of having some energy, and eating for real! Gives me hope." He smiled, a smile that was perpetually worried, but lighter now. "...I didn't want to come, but he didn't want me to stay home from church, not when we was feeling better."

"I'm so glad," Anne said, bubbly.

"What's that you've got there?" Gilbert asked, gesturing to the needlepoint she was holding.

"Oh, this- it's what I started working on this weekend! I finished my first one, and so I started this. It's going to be beautiful! I can't wait for you to see it when it's finished."

Gilbert looked at the wooden frame. "I ha," he read aloud.

"Oh," Anne laughed. "Well, it's going to say, 'I have for the first time found what I can truly love–I have found you. You are my sympathy–my better self–my good angel–I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you–and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one."

She blushed, and he noticed.

"You've got that memorized, eh?"

"I didn't set out to memorize it, but I have, because it's very important." Anne bit her lip, very aware of the fact that Matthew and Marilla were waiting only a few yards away.

Gilbert smiled.

"Marilla says it's too long," she commented. "But I like it. Sometimes it takes a lot of words to say a thing, and it's awfully meaningful."

"Well, I agree with Miss Cuthbert, it's too many words. Make it easy on yourself: just put 'Carrots'. It means the same thing as all those other pretty words." Gilbert told her, grinning.

"Har har har," Anne said sarcastically. Inside she was flying.

But late on Sunday night, a dreadful weight settled itself in Anne's chest and brought a lump to her throat. It was not sadness, and it was not fear, in fact it was not anything she could recognize. It was an endless expanse of emptiness, a melancholy that manifested itself physically.

Marilla came upstairs to tell her goodnight, but found Anne sitting on her bed in her nightgown, staring at the wall with unfocused eyes.

"Are you all right, Anne?" she asked, concerned.

"...I don't know," came a confused reply.

"You were so happy before- are you feeling down now? I expect you're just tired out, is all. Here now, into bed and lights out."

Anne complied, and Marilla patted her on the head with a smile.

But it was a long time before sleep came.